The Magical World of Tylluan Penry

Oh, it's been one of those days today all right. I have seen some of the worst driving ever (which is saying something) and the whole world seems to have gone mad.... or is it the moon? Could it be that the drivers who just launch themselves into main roads from side streets are responding to some deep primeval pull from the moon? There is definitely something in the air some days and I think this is one of them.

So I was wondering - has anyone else noticed anything 'full moon' about today?

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

If the weather stays fine today I’m going to do some gardening. Or more accurately, I shall take off into the garden with the intention of working. Probably I shall curl up with a book of poetry.

The road outside my house used to be the old summer migratory path up from the valley to the summer pastures. It’s been there since Neolithic times and at the top there’s an ancient cairn. Nothing odd in that around here. In fact, outside of Stonehenge, our valley boasts one of the few remaining stone circles in the UK. And what did our Council do, in its wisdom? It built a rubbish tip over most of it. Philistines.

Back to the road – it’s very busy. Not with the neighbours or cars (though on occasion you see a few of the latter driving up and then down when they realise they’ve lost their way and it’s a cul-de-sac) but with – well, ‘them’. The earlier groups who made the annual trek up and down to what are called the hafodtai or summer dwellings. It means there’s always a lot going on out there on the psychic planes, especially at this time of year, right up until the autumn. It quietens down a bit after that until late the following spring.

There’s even a soldier from World War I who regularly comes to the gate but no further. We haven’t managed to find out who he is yet.

But today is the eve of Lughnasadh – that’s it’s most popular name but by no means the only one. Really we can call it what we like - it's the underlying meaning that matters.

Falling on the 1st August it marks the beginning of Autumn in the pagan calendar. So for me that means understanding that the year is winding down again after the frenzy of growth in spring and summer. It’s a time of taking stock, of working to bring in the harvest. Years ago this was quite literal – countryfolk had to work had to ensure there was enough for the long winter months ahead. You even find a Rune – Jara – that marks the harvest.

But now our harvests are different – more subtle maybe, harder to spot, but no less hard work. For me it’s making sure my home is wind and watertight because the weather here is so harsh; also soon I intend to start on my jam and pickle making. Also my writing is part of my personal harvest.

Other people may have quite different ideas and priorities, but look closely and you’ll find there’s something (maybe several things) in your life which are your own personal harvest around this time of year, August – October. Understanding and engaging with them is just one way of bringing the meaning of Lughnasadh into our lives. The people who once trudged up and down the road outside my home, heading to and from the summer pastures would have understood this.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

Okay here it is... my first attempt at photographing the moon. Not brilliant I know, but at least I stopped the camera shake! I had to go up to the top of the house to take the photo and then the window wouldn't open and it was dark and I tripped over something.... No, no more excuses.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

So there I was with my new camera last night (a birthday present from one of my daughters) trying to take a photo of the moon. Well, it seemed like a great idea at the time. If any of you heard reports of some silly old bat hanging out of an upstairs window at midnight waving her arms about – that was me. I got my pictures but mostly they looked like UFO’s. In desperation I also photographed a solar light down in the garden – that looked like a UFO too. Better luck tonight.

What is it about the moon that so fascinates us still? I mean I know that it’s a lump of rock, but to me there’s still an air of mystery about it that no moonwalks will ever erase. Interestingly my mother never believed man had landed on the moon – she reckoned it was all a set-up in a back studio in Hollywood. I was amazed years later, once I got the Internet, to discover this is still quite a commonly held belief.

In fact, my mother’s family had rather ambiguous views about the moon. When I was young I was told a family legend about an ancestor who went mad through looking at the moon and thinking about time (yes, I kid you not. They were a strange lot.) Apparently he started thinking along the lines of ‘this is the same moon my father used to look at,’ and then ‘this is the same moon my grandfather used to look at’ and gradually worked his way back through Francis Drake (not an ancestor, but interesting often believed to be a sorcerer by his contemporaries) to the dawn of time, by which time he was frothing at the mouth and had to be taken away.

Was it a true story? Probably not. It was more an allegory, a warning perhaps, that was passed down for generations. Possibly being seen out of doors under a full moon was a sure way of getting yourself talked about among the neighbours. After all, the word Lunatic derives originally from the Latin for Moon.

The moon certainly affects the tides, and according to Professor Zimecki’s report entitled, ‘ The Lunar Cycle: Effects On Human And Animal Behaviour And Physiology’ full moons affect criminal activities and heath, causing an escalation in crime and hospital admissions. Zimecki argues that suicides increase on a new moon, and supports this with reference to hospitals who apparently increase their security according to the lunar cycle. And some prisons report more violent incidents around the full moon.

Is our response to the moon just emotional or is there more to it? Something we cannot control? It’s been hotly debated for years. Some argue it’s because humans are mostly composed of fluid that the moon’s gravity effects us just as it does the sea. Others reckon it’s the fluid in part of the hypothalamus that is affected.

Personally I believe in going by our own observations. Some people may be more dramatically affected than others. I knew a boy whose behaviour changed dramatically on a full moon to the extent where he almost became a different personality, but how to prove it was due to lunar influence? I don’t know. How do we prove anything? We can assemble all the evidence together – but if we don’t want to believe (as in the case of my mother and the moon landing) then we won’t.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

Wow - part IV already. Originally I thought I would just write a few lines but to be honest once I get started on this subject I could probably go on about it for years! (Okay – I promise I won't!)

So how did hexing actually work? I can only tell you what I observed for myself because I was never admitted to the family’s innermost circle. This was because my main interests of healing and divination were considered a bit ‘wet’, so I am sure I only ever got to see the tip of the iceberg.

Much of my family's hexing was spontaneous and improvised on the spot, suggesting a very advanced knowledge of the mechanics of spell-casting. They often used images in some shape or form however. The fact that my mother and aunt took in sewing for people meant they often had scraps of material left over. So making poppets (sometimes also called voodoo dolls) was never a problem. Interestingly they usually referred to them as wax effigies even though they were made from wooden old-fashioned clothes pegs.

I only ever actually saw a poppet used on one occasion, though it was often hinted at. Back when I was young, it was quite common to try and make one’s own doll, either a rag doll, knitted one, or from clothes pegs or wooden spoons. I was good at this, because I liked most crafts, and I was especially good at making them from clothes pegs. My family encouraged this - for obvious reasons, I suspect - and because what I made were so lifelike I even managed to sell a few to augment my pocket money. There was no magical intention attached to them, they were just for fun.

Once a friend asked me to make a pair representing her and her fiancé. I made my friend’s first and then my mother suddenly took an interest in what I was doing and offered to make the male doll. She had the most peculiar expression on her face while she did so; she was intent on the task in hand and at the same time observing me closely. I always used pipe cleaners to make the arms and hands, so it was easy to make the two figures hold hands, which I thought was rather romantic. ‘No,’ said my mother, and swept them apart with her hand. ‘Now see what happens.’

I think I expected the figures to start walking and take on a life of their own. But of course, the magic was subtler than that. Shortly afterwards I had a phone call from my friend in floods of tears. She and her fiancé had broken up. I mentioned it to my mother and she just stared at me for a few moments. ‘I’m not in the least surprised.’ Looking back on it, neither was I.

I’m not sure whether any of the younger generation of my relatives has continued with the craft. I suspect that one or two have and I’ve made it my business to give them a very wide berth. But the distractions of modern life have taken their toll. Email and mobile phones have the edge over telepathy, involve no long training and little effort. We are constantly surrounded by an ‘instant’ world; instant results, instant gratification. It’s hard to imagine that hexing holds much interest for young people nowadays. Hex –versus- text? No contest.

And yet, over the years I have witnessed how deeply witchcraft and magic are embedded in our collective psyche. In spite of two thousand years of Christianity, our old pagan beliefs are lurking just below the surface, ingrained so deeply that they have been impossible to eradicate. Given a chance – even half a chance, it will come to the fore. I have a sneaking suspicion that if you scrape away the thin veneer of ‘civilisation’ you may find that we are all witches, under the skin.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

It'll be a full moon soon - actually I once knew someone whose entire personality changed whenever there was a full moon. Scary stuff. Well, provided it stays nice and dry I shall be outside and bowing to it nine times....it doesn't have to be a full moon either, as far as I'm concerned the moon is so beautiful, I'll bow to it any time.

And down in the bottom of my garden maybe the Green Man will be watching. We've made him a special throne - just for him!

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

Brightest blessings
Tylluan

Well, I’m having a great birthday. Today is ‘Birthday Plus One’ – and I intend celebrating for a while longer…. Beautiful weather today so with any luck I shall be out in my garden, cwtched up in the arbor surrounded by lavender, pinks and a plant I call Mr Holly. He was in the bargain section of a nearby garden centre and literally threw himself at me which I took as meaning that he would like to come home. Last week I bought him his own special pot, (something nice and tasteful) and he seems very content. Can virtually hear him purring!

But enough of such frivolity. Back to today’s blog. Still on the topic of hexing, I wanted to write a bit about mirrors. In ancient times most people didn’t have access to a mirror. They were very much the preserve of the well off. Most people made do with looking in ponds (or didn’t look at themselves at all!) But it’s interesting that as the mirror became more widely available, so a whole raft of superstitions grew up around it. Does anyone here remember them? When I was young these superstitions included :

1.Not looking at yourself too long in the mirror in case the devil looked back at you or looked over your shoulder.
2.Turning Mirrors to face the wall when someone in the house had died to stop their soul from being trapped.

And of course there was also Glamour Magic – yes, people still do this, and yes, it still works, though it’s nothing like most of the spells you read on the internet.

So how do mirrors have anything to do with hexing? Well, since the action of hexing implied the acceptance of its attendant risks, (‘what goes round comes around’) my family took a number of elaborate precautions to minimise the possible fall out. Our house was full of mirrors. I mean really, really full. I counted them once: there were almost seventy! You couldn’t move without glimpsing yourself out of the corner of your eye.

It was quite creepy. There you’d be, walking along the landing and suddenly you’d see the image of your back bounced off one of these mirrors. Weird. You didn’t need eyes in the back of your head, the mirrors did that for you! When asked why there were so many, my mother would just say ‘for dressmaking’ but that didn’t explain tiny mirrors all over the place, some in areas where you would have needed to be a contortionist to look in them.

Mirrors occupy an important place in magic. Since early times mankind has believed that the soul could separate from the body without causing death, and be viewed as a reflection. So long as the vessel containing the reflection (bowl of water, mirror, polished metal) remained intact, the soul was safe, but if it broke then death would follow.

There are all sorts of folk tales and superstitions warning against looking in the mirror, from the story of Narcissus who withered away and died looking at his reflection, to the old idea that if you looked in the mirror for too long you would see the Devil looking back at you. It’s easy to dismiss these as simply Christian admonitions against vanity, but scratch a little deeper and you will see that the real fear was that the spirit could become trapped in a mirror and therefore vulnerable to attack.

In sending out a spell, the caster always sends something of their self, which is another reason why too much magic can be very weakening. The hexer is therefore at her most vulnerable just after the spell is cast, and given that the spell can sometimes rebound, the mirrors helped by deflecting the returning hex. Also they helped protect against any form of psychic attack by thought forms.

For those of you who have never come across these before, the best way I can describe them is to imagine a monster stepping out of your dreams and into reality. When based on sound magical practice, thought forms can be useful ‘gophers’ but when fuelled by extreme emotion (the sort that facilitates hexing) they can spiral right out of control.

Personally I feel that thought forms, although useful, should be regarded with caution. It’s a bit like trying to keep a tiger as a house pet. Just as certain personalities are attracted to hexing, so some people find it easy to create thought forms. Some people find generating thought forms is child’s play – which it often is, quite literally! Haven’t you even wondered about those ‘imaginary friends’ that some children create? They are an early, simple type of thought form, and while the child is young enough, they are relatively harmless.

Most children grow out of them because thought forms require more complexity if they are to remain interesting and useful. Unless the child understands this and is able to keep re-creating the thought form in a slightly more intricate form each time they will outgrow it, just like a teddy bear or Dinky toy. This is probably just as well, because it is during puberty that children’s magical powers suddenly take off in all directions. An uncontrollable thought form conjured up by a teenager with raging hormones doesn’t really bear thinking about!

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

My birthday! I won't tell you hold old I am, but I feel I'm getting younger. Yes, bits of me are pretty creaky now, but so what! All is well in Tylluan's world so far. The sun is trying to shine and the sky has enough blue to make a pair of breeches.

I started this thread (is that the right word? probably not!) about hexing because once people know you're a witch it's usually one of the first questions they ask. There's a lot of rubbish talked about hexing, so having come from a family that practised it on a wide scale, I thought it might be a good idea to try and explain a few things first.

Of course the word ‘hexing’ is open to a wide interpretation. I tend to use the term to cover spells designed to harm others, but I know some people might broaden the interpretation to include the ability to impose your will on someone else, whether they like it or not. It isn’t a particularly difficult skill to learn, and the possibilities for mayhem if it is abused are extensive.

However, it’s quite possible to think of situations where ‘changing someone’s mind’ is positively the best thing to do. For example, your brother finds out his girlfriend has cheated on him and intends to go round to her house and confront her. You know he has a vile temper. Would ‘changing his mind’ so that he stays in and watches Match of the Day be such a bad thing in the circumstances?

Now there are witches out there (and I think they should know better) who will jump in and say it’s the wrong thing to do because it interferes with his free will. But isn’t that what we do all the time? Even without magic, surely most of us would talk to our brother, try to persuade him not to go and speak to his girlfriend, at least not until he had calmed down and was in a more reasonable frame of mind. And how many of us would be likely to go further and first ask his permission to have this conversation? I think if something’s acceptable in the everyday world, then you can also make a case to justify it in the magical world. The techniques of hexing do not necessarily harm – it is the intention that makes the hex.

However, there are a couple of things I don’t much like about hexing. Firstly it seems to attract people who want to hex when they are stoned or drunk. Personally I don’t think it’s a good idea to embark on any magical work when you are under the influence of alcohol and drugs. Yes, they’ve been used since time immemorial, but they’re difficult to control properly and have a nasty habit of reducing your ability to focus properly.

Having been on the receiving end of some unfocused hexes over the years, I can vouch it's something I'd rather avoid in future!

I know there are people who will disagree with this, claiming that drugs can be useful aids to visualisation. As I’ve never tried drugs I can’t vouch for them, however I’ve seen how alcohol can quickly become a bad master. Unfortunately hexing is addictive in itself, and if you use drugs or alcohol to fuel your spell, it’s common sense that your addictions will only get worse.

The same goes for rites requiring sexual or sacrificial climaxes. They can become so addictive, that rather than being a means to an end, they become the end in itself. Once this happens, your magic will deteriorate accordingly. I don’t like sacrifice in any shape or form; if you must spill blood it should be your own, go and nick your finger with a knife or stick a pin in it. It’s your spell; take responsibility for it.

Well, sermon over for today. I'm off to celebrate! My birthday celebrations tend to go on over a period of several days (and occasionally weeks) - a birthday is much too good to confine to 24 hours!

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

Growing up in a family that practised what would now be called the ‘dark side’ of witchcraft was never dull, so over the next few posts I thought I might share a few memories with you on this subject.

Nowadays of course hexing is usually frowned upon, but back in those far off days I don’t think anyone really worried about it all that much (provided they didn’t get caught, of course!) After all, when you want to hex someone, the only non-magical possibilities to achieve the same result will usually involve some sort of criminal activity. If you go out into the street and punch a passer-by, you run a high risk of either being arrested or receiving a black eye. It’s perfectly possible however, to sit at your window and make people fall flat on their face without them even realising who’s doing it.

So although considering other options first may be good advice for most types of magic, people who resort to hexing usually don’t bother with all that hand wringing and soul searching. Or to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw’s famous saying, ‘Them as can, hex, them as can’t, just moralise about it.’

Personally, I never really saw the attraction of constant hexing. Yes, there will always be times when you will be tempted to hex, just as there will always be times when you will be tempted to say something rash (and five minutes later wish you hadn’t). Once I learned to cast spells, hexing was way down my list. It just wasn’t all that interesting compared to all the other things you could do. What was the point?

Unfortunately, the trouble with hexing is that it can be highly addictive. Normally, the better you become at magic, the less you need to do it. But for people with a certain temperament, hexing is easy. You end up hexing people not because you wish to, or even because someone deserves it, but because you can. Once you start, it’s very hard to stop.

Another drawback is that from a magical point of view hexing encourages you into some really bad magical habits. You get lazy. If you get lazy enough you begin to take risks and if you take too many risks, sooner or later you will come a cropper. Just as if you get into the habit of jumping a red traffic light, sooner or later you will have an accident. It’s not about psychic retribution (though that can sometimes play a part) – it’s really just the law of averages. The more risks you take, the more chance there is that one day you’ll wish you hadn’t.

For example, you should never, ever, hex someone when you are in a temper because when your emotions are in turmoil all sensible magical practice goes out of the window. You spell turns into a psychic scattergun, and all sorts of people can be injured in the fall out. You might think this is common sense, but you'd be surprised how often people forget in the heat of the moment.

One witch within my family often hexed others when she was in a foul temper. She never gave herself chance to calm down; she certainly never looked for any kind of compromise. No, she got down to magic while still incandescent with rage. The result unfortunately was that her magic, although accurately directed at her victim (often with very unpleasant results) also tended to hit other people. Sometimes it even injured those closest to her, whom she would never normally have harmed in any way. Truly, in magic revenge is a dish best eaten cold.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

This is the entre I wrote for yesterday - i.e. Tuesday. I never got to post it up because the internet connection went down at around 10am for twelve hours. It is now hopelessly out of date. Instead of sunshine we now have rain - lots of it. But for the sake of nostalgia, I'm going to post it anyway...

Aaaah! Sunshine at last! Time to dust down my sandals and go out into the garden. There are a million and one things that need doing and I’m sure the dogs will bring back my trowel and gardening gloves if I ask them nicely.

An hour later and not only have my gardening gloves failed to materialise but now my spare flower pots are strewn all over the grass. Some are distinctly chewed. I grit my teeth and keep on with the re-potting feeling very virtuous. The lavender smells heavenly so I put it near my old fashioned arbour, near the equally old fashioned clove pinks. The trouble with making a space like this for myself is that I find I want to simply sit out there and think and dream rather than do anything useful. The brambles are growing by the minute and all I want to do is curl up in the arbour and read poetry. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day….?’

But no, I tell myself that today I must keep myself busy and then I shall ‘earn’ a cup of tea. What a wretched take on life! So instead I go and brew myself some tea and bring it out into the garden, curl up in the arbour, read more poetry, ‘Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day and make me travel forth without my cloak?’ and get absolutely sod all work done.

I know what you’re thinking. Can she keep this up? Let me tell you, I could procrastinate for Wales. So I go indoors, find a cardigan (in spite of the sunshine there’s little heat in the air) and a new book, this time my Anglo Saxon Herbal, the Leechbook of Bald. Oh, this is a walk on the wild side for me! All those recipes for dealing with elves! It’s heady stuff. What with that and the heavy scent of honeysuckle dripping down the wall, I must be reaching a herbal high or something.

After a while, however I feel that if I can’t get on with anything useful I should instead tear myself away from the elves and the woundwort and go and inspect the boundaries. This is a euphemism for seeing what Mr Sarcophagus Jones is up to. I noticed him having a large delivery from Jewsons this morning. From the look of things he is building a ballista high up on the terrace of his front garden. Another poem comes unbidden to my mind….

High upon the terrace,
Mr Jones is lying, p*,
Playing with his ballista
He has hit a Methodist.

[I should mention here of course that there is absolutely no evidence that Mr. Sarcophagus Jones or his good lady are ever the worse for drink. Indeed not. The rumours about five empty bottles of sherry in his recycling bag at Christmastime were pure gossip mongering.]

And finally, I finish the day with a well earned Haiku:

Thought I'd write Haiku
THen thought, 'Why should I bother?'
So I never did.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

I had a long list of things that needed doing this weekend – did I do them? Well, some. Does it matter? In the great scheme of things, probably not. My last blog entry was about hill figures, or more specifically about Homer Simpson being painted on the grass next to the Cerne Abbas Giant. And then I got to thinking, because not far from where I live, someone has painted a very large cross on the hillside, right about the town. It had a lot of approval in the local press. Or put it another way, one journalist wrote quite a few column inches about it. Personally I haven’t heard much comment either way, other than wondering how on earth anyone scaled the mountainside carrying a bucket of white paint/lime and a brush. And why the rain hasn’t washed it off yet. (It’s been up there well over a year now.)

But then I started wondering…. Always supposing I was agile enough to climb up the mountain, what else could I paint up there? Well, a pentacle is an obvious choice – though tricky to paint accurately on such a big scale, and the same goes for a Star of David. A hammer and sickle, maybe? A giant game of noughts and crosses? Another Cerne Abbas Giant?

The mind boggles – what would you paint?

‘Seeking the Green’ by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info – watch this space!

I have to admit liking Homer Simpson. He’s up there with Fred Flintstone and Yogi Bear in my book – a well meaning good guy. So when he turned up waving a doughnut at the Cerne Abbas Giant I was surprised, yes, but not offended. Not outraged. And I certainly didn’t want to do a spell to make the rain fall and wash him away. Not yet, anyway.

Now admittedly it didn’t strike me as being the brightest of ideas to put Homer next to the giant. I don’t know what sort of white pigment was used, whether it would damage the grass, or frighten the sheep or maybe be visible from space. But when I read about pagans being ‘outraged’ ‘furious’ and a thousand and one other over-the-top adjectives I did stop in my tracks. After all, maybe the Cerne Giant was the Homer Simpson of his day, and his club was a doughnut equivalent.

If I want to get ‘outraged’ I’d like to at least find something worthwhile. Po-faced Pagans are on a par with Po Faced Victorians who demanded that the Giant’s naughty bits should be covered up in days gone by. They were apparently ‘outraged’ ‘furious’ and all that… (funny, I seem to have heard that before, quite recently…)

Why does everyone seem to be getting on their high horse and feeling so offended about every little thing lately? As pagans, can’t we just smile, shake our heads and say, ‘yes, well, it’s a bit of a laugh but it’ll be gone soon’ or something? Do we have to take everything to heart, looking for offence? Nobody asked me what I thought, and I’m a pagan. These spokesmen/spokeswomen/ spokespeople don’t actually speak for everyone.

I remember the first time I saw the Cerne Abbas giant when I was about six or seven years old. There was a tiny pub there, I think it was called the Blacksmith’s arms and it had been an old force once. I think it was the smallest pub in England. Maybe it still is. And I seem to remember the old village stocks were still there too and I had my photo taken sitting in them. Ah, those were the days!

Please don’t get worked up about this. In the great scheme of things it doesn’t really matter all that much. Homer Simpson isn’t permanent. Okay, he’s standing next to a naked giant brandishing a club. I could write reams on the phallic and sexual innuendo going on between those two (but I won’t). Just smile and move on, and remember:

Homer today, Gone tomorrow.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

A brilliant day – just the weather for getting out and about into the garden and doing my communing with Nature thing. Since my path is Nature based this has the effect of recharging my batteries which is lovely. And I’m lucky to have a really magical garden, so I was really looking forward to it.

Then I got a phone call from a pagan friend I hadn’t heard from in a while. She’s one of those people who paints her fingernails black and wanders around with a huge pentacle the size of a dustbin lid around her neck. I don’t know why, after all, I’m a pagan myself, but such an overt display does make me feel a tad uncomfortable. I don’t hide what I believe – but I don’t go out of my way to make a statement either.

Well, my friend’s fingernails and pentacle weren’t the problem today. Oh no, it was the Middle Ages. She had just been reading about the ‘Burning Times’ and was blazing (sorry about the pun, couldn’t resist it) with righteous indignation. For those of you not familiar with this phrase, the Burning Times was a period from the late Middle Ages until the late 17th century when the witch hunts were all the rage.

Pagans are divided over the Burning Times. Some are completely indifferent, saying only, ‘Well, things were different then.’ Others are mystified ‘I wonder if I was a witch in a former life?’ Some are incensed, and determined never again to allow a Christian within forty feet of them.

My friend, as you can imagine, was in the latter group. I think if she could have gathered enough like minded souls together they’d have gone off and hunted down a couple of vicars. ‘Never again the Burning Times!’ she ranted.

I told her to calm down. I explained that during the period in question just about every group you could think of was either persecuting or being persecuted. It was all a matter of luck – and geography. The term ‘witch’ was just a stick to beat the dog with and most of those who were executed were probably not witches at all, just odd bods, people who didn’t fit in, or who annoyed the neighbours etc etc. I tried to assure her that nobody was likely to tie her thumbs together and throw her in the local pond in the near future.
‘You don’t understand!’ she yelled, as though all my life has been spent in some airy fairy world where bunny-wunnies play and nothing bad ever happens (I wish), ‘This is serious. This could happen again.’

She’s right there, of course. It could. It probably will. And if she truly believes she is at risk of being persecuted she should maybe consider lighter nail varnish and shove that blasted pentacle under her shirt. Otherwise I might chuck her in that pond myself.

I mentioned in yesterday’s blog entry that our dogs were restless due to psychic activity in the house.  This also affects our house rabbit who goes beserk  and bangs his very large feet like mad especially on a Saturday night (and no, I have no idea why this should be.  Maybe the spirits like to party or something…) 

I have always been convinced that animals are psychic – probably much more so than humans.  Our dogs (we have four) certainly see things that we can’t.  There’s probably a lot of research waiting to be done on this one of these days. 

But it’s not just the idea that animals can see a ghost that convinces me.  Years ago, one of our dogs (sadly long since departed to the Otherworld) would know exactly when my husband was coming home, even though this could vary wildly from day to day.  He would get up and go to the door as soon as my husband caught the train, and then later would get up again and start wagging his tail as soon as my husband turned the corner to walk up our street (about half a mile away, so there was little likelihood of the dog actually hearing his footsteps.)

The same dog reacted very noticeably when I had had contact with a very powerful (and unpleasant) witch in my family.  He greeted me as usual when I came home, then the fur along his back stood on end and he just went into a corner and turned his back on me.  This went on for almost 24 hours, and he never did anything like it before or since. 

We have also had dogs who have forewarned us of illness (even toothache!) 

I find it’s always well worth listening to your pets, they often have insight into things that we seem to miss.  Possibly this is because domestic animals have less control over their situation than humans, and rely on their instincts to protect them more – I don’t know, it’s just a theory.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

[This picture is my version of a Green Man - based on the image of Sulis (possibly) from the Roman Baths at Bath. None of which has anything to do with the blog that follows, I just like the picture]
 

Does anybody else ever suspect that Time plays tricks on us?  Why is it that when I’m happily engrossed in something the time just whizzes past, but when I’m stuck doing ironing or …. Or what?  I was going to say ‘some other chore I hate’ but actually now I come to think of it there isn’t much I don’t enjoy.

Learning to enjoy whatever comes your way is a skill and you have to work at it.  When I was young there were loads of things I disliked doing, and whenever I was stuck doing them the time would just drag its feet.  Time seems to know, doesn’t it?  Because when you’re happy and busy you can get through an hour in about ten minutes flat.

It’s nothing new, this game that Time is playing with us.  You hear it everyday in conversation.  For example, ‘It’s been a long day.’  No, it hasn’t.  It’s been exactly the same as every other day in the Universe.  Twentyfour hours, no give or take.  But somehow it feels different.

Here’s another example, ‘Where does the time go?’  Down the plughole probably, like so many other things.  But does it?  Or is it stored away somewhere, waiting for a chance to jump out and WHAM!  Suddenly it’s payback time and there’s another three hours added to the working day.

It’s not just hours or minutes, either.  The other day was my wedding anniversary.  I won’t tell you how many years it is now - but it’s a lot.  Yet it still feels like yesterday that we got married.  Why?  Why should years ago feel closer than my last trip to the dentists?  (which, thankfully, I have only the haziest memory of.)

It’s quite possible to slip back in time, I’m convinced of that.  I can’t explain how it happens in any way that would convince say, a physicist, but maybe one day I shall.  Or maybe physics will be able to explain it to me.  That’d be a turn up for the books. 

It’s got something to do with the natural gateways that are all around us, they seem to make it easier to slip in and out of worlds, so they probably have some effect on time as well.  We have a couple of these gateways where I live.  One is outside near the kitchen window, and there is another at the foot of the stairs in the hallway.  All sorts of strange things happen there, people (and animals) coming and going.  It really spooks our house rabbit sometimes!

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

It’s raining today, so Mrs Anubis Evans has just hung out a line of washing and Mr Sarcophagus Jones has started laying some bricks.  Makes sense, doesn’t it?  Well, it does around here.

Men have a strange fascination with bricklaying in this part of the world.  As soon as they get home from work they change into their work clothes (checked shirts and jeans) and out they go, shovelling away with the cement.  Sometimes they make paths, sometimes it’s a wall.  Sometimes they desert their true calling of laying bricks and do some painting.  Mr Sarcophagus Jones clearly learned his painting techniques from a master of the Dark Arts.  I saw him painting the side of his house up a ladder once, and he managed to get the drips to run upwards!  Today he is struggling to cover a breeze block wall in plastic cladding. 

Mog the Brick, the greatest wall builder in the Valleys, tends to work only at night and only in the winter.  He switches his outdoor security light to On/Permanent and away he goes.  Sometimes the wall is so high you can’t see Mog at all.  It’s marvellous to watch, and his walls are works of art.  Forget Damien Hirst or Tracey What’s-her-name (see, I’ve forgotten it already).  Mog’s work is the stuff to invest in for the future.  Unlike the neighbours, Mog only works in natural materials, such as stone.  He even incorporates patterns into the wall, like giant puzzles waiting to be solved.  It’s a pleasure to behold.  His last wall was so big he fell off it when it was finished – apparently he forgot the dangers of standing back to admire his handiwork when it was so high off the ground!

But I digress.  My garden likes the rain.  It uses the rain as an excuse to run amok.  Brambles suddenly appear from nowhere, covered in slow ripening blackberries.  Creeping buttercups march forward several yards.  But there’s nothing like the smell of a newly washed garden – washed with rainwater, I mean, not the foul smelling carbolic mixture so beloved of Mrs Anubis Evans and her ilk.  If you sit out in the garden when it’s raining you see a totally different world, and of course water is a great conductor of psychic phenomena, so be prepared for a few surprises!  Rain can  cleanse the garden in more ways than one, and in particular it clears away the rubbish that usually builds up around the natural portals, meaning there is a lot more activity in those areas immediately after a good downpour. 

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

A lovely warm day today so I thought I would sit in the garden and commune with Nature. But first I had a dozen or so things to do which included trying to cover up scratches on the car from where I collided with a speeding gate. By the time I was half way through the fumes from the paint and filler were getting to me and I had a blinding headache and a real fit of the giggles. ‘This is no good,’ I thought (or thoughts to that effect.) A nice relaxing half hour in the garden was just what I needed.

Unfortunately there was some sort of pop concert a few miles from here that was being broadcast on the radio, and some local teenagers decided it would be a really great service to mankind if they relayed it to the entire valley. I don’t know what sound system they were using, but a quick peep out of the bathroom window while standing on a wobbly chair revealed they had speakers that made The Who’s Marshall Amps look like lego bricks.

It’s not that I mind the music. I quite like the Manic Street Preachers. But I really object when somebody else tries to dictate what I ought to be listening to!

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

It took me a long time to get used to the idea that sometimes the moon wasn’t going to put in an appearance. As a child I was so used to the moon that I viewed the couple of dark days as a personal affront and used to get quite annoyed about it. In my mind there were certain attributes to each of the moon phases:

A new moon – magical like a scimitar in the sky, just waiting to strike.

A half moon (waxing or waning, I was none too fussy) – it reminded me of a slice of frosted lemon peel. It made me feel hungry sometimes, too

The full moon – this always made me feel happy because it looked as though it was smiling down at me. (And I, of course, would smile back).

But the dark of the moon? An absence of moon? How was I supposed to get my head around that?

And yet, the moon is always there. And no, it doesn’t really change shape, it’s just sunlight bouncing off it and the sunlight changes shape. And somehow, once I realised that the moon was always there then the dark of the moon didn’t seem so scary any more.

But as I’ve grown older the moon still retains her ability to amaze me. A year or so again I saw a huge (and I mean HUGE) full moon, low in the sky, coloured a weird shade of peach. A couple of other people saw it too, so I don’t think I was hallucinating! There’s something about a moon that just captivates you when you’re least expecting it.

I love greeting the moon, too. My family are used to me ‘just popping outside’ on freezing cold winter nights and are pretty tolerant about it. Even when I return indoors, teeth chattering, nobody bats an eyelid. They know I’ve been honouring the moon. And the moon knows this, too.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!

When I was young one of my uncles was very superstitious. There were a whole raft of things he wouldn’t do at certain times unless in possession of his lucky rabbit’s foot. (I kid you not.) But at the top of his list was always the dreaded Friday the 13th. On that blighted day he wouldn’t even go in to work. With or without his lucky rabbit’s foot. (What the poor bloody rabbit was supposed to do I can’t imagine. I suppose his luck had run out a long time before…)

Every year at Christmas he would get hold of the next year’s calendar and go through it, feverishly checking to see how many times the thirteenth of the month fell on a Friday. And on those days he would shift from his kitchen, no matter what anyone said to him. He simply wouldn’t set foot outside the door if he could help it.

So why do we fear this day? Some say it’s because Friday the 13th was the day when all the Knights Templar were arrested across Europe. Others hark back to Biblical themes. Personally I’ve got my suspicions about certain days being unlucky. There are certainly days when there’s ‘something in the air’ but I usually put them down to sunspot activity. At least, I do when I’m feeling charitable.

Something might cause some days to be unluckier than others but I’m still not convinced that Friday the 13th is one of those. It’s just a date after all. One day in a long line of others. A day like any other.

So unlike my uncle, I don’t worry too much about going out of doors or driving the car today. Just so long as I can remember where I put that lucky rabbit’s foot…

I've always enjoyed keeping a journal. That's what I called it anyway until an 'experienced' wiccan corrected me and explained that no, it was a Book of Shadows. So now I know.

The first jour- whoops, sorry, Book of Shadows (from now on referred to as BOS) was when I was about fourteen, and I tried to get family members (mostly practising witches, although they would rarely admit it) to contribute. THey smiled a lot and promised they would help, but ultimately all I got were two recipes involving vinegar and onions. (And I suspect that one of those was a fancy version of pickled onions)

Maybe I was wrong to ask - after all, should we really contribute to other peoples BOS? Personally I don't think there's anything wrong with contributing the odd useful hint or tip. The world would be a funny place if we didn't share. But the real problems come when people expect you to write your BOS for them. Maybe that's why my family wouldn't help all those years ago, they wanted me to write my own book instead of relying on them.

Brightest blessings
Tylluan

http://seekingthegreen.mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/index.jhtml

Well, we've had some sunshine today. Mr Sarcophagus Jones was up bright and early sticking plastic all over his front garden. Apart from the Astroturf in place of grass he now has bunches of plastic flowers everywhere. Why anyone would want to do this is a mystery. SOmetimes I catch him staring at my wild corner of the world in disbelief. Clearly the neighbourhood has gone sadly downhill since my family and I moved in.

I well remember that day. We arrived around noon, myself wearing a tee-shirt with a large skull and crossbones on it, dragged along behind one of my dogs like something out of a Western film. Mrs Anubis Evans spent all day polishing her front windows and washing her net curtains so she had an excuse to stare at what was going on. Countries on the Arctic Circle are called 'the land of the midnight sun.' Japan is the 'land of the rising sun.' Where I live is known as 'the land of the twitching curtains.'

But I digress. It is really important to leave parts of the garden wild - not just for the birds, butterflies and creepy crawlies who might enjoy themselves there in some privacy but for spiritual reasons too. Certain entities like a bit of piece and quiet, which they're much more likely to find in a patch of bracken or nettles than in the middle of Mr Sarcophagus Jones' Astroturf.

My daughter has very kindly bought me a camera for my forthcoming birthday and I am busy trying it out, finding what it will do and secretly hoping that I may one day get lucky and actually get a photo of some of the 'visitors' that frequent my house and garden. When that happens (and I'm nothing if not optimistic) this blog will be the first to know.

Brightest blessings
Tylluan

I've had my manuscript 'Seeking the Green' accepted for publication with Capall Bann - great excitement all around, even a lamp post fell down in shock across the road! No, really, it did..... we heard this great crash and I thought my garden wall had fallen down or maybe the big beech tree. Instead it was a lamp post. Must have been the shock!

Seriously though, I'll keep the blog informed about the book's progress. At the moment I don't know exactly when it'll be published, but it's great news.

As for the lamp post, well, it wasn't great news for a nearby car which was just about flattened (it was a concrete post, after all.) Mrs Anubis Evans was out cleaning her windows all morning when the men came to clean up the mess.....

Brightest blessings
Tylluan

Well, I haven't posted here in a while, what with one thing and another.... but no, I'm not going to start posting excuses. For one thing I'd just start rabbitting, for another - well, let's just say my excuses occasionally have made things even worse.

From a pagan point of view the year is moving onwards, changing gears. There's a real change in the air now and it's not just the lousy weather we've been having. I've been around long enough to remember summers just as cold, wet and downright wintery as this in the past. But look around and you'll see for yourself... the headgerows change colour for a start. After the solstice they are noticeably deep pink (mostly foxgloves) and yellow.

When I was younger I used start thinking of Christmas and winter once we reached July - this was a bit of a bummer since I hadn't even broken up for the Summer holidays then! However, in terms of the cycle of seasons this sudden lurch towards winter is perfectly normal. After all, the days really are shortening again. It might be barely perceptible, but we have passed the high point of the Summer Solstice and we are - like it or not - heading towards the Winter one!

But maybe we could just have a few summery days in the coming months.... please???

Brightest blessings
Tylluan